


New Shores

by TheLoyalMouse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Jjbek, M/M, Vikturio, either, plov, victurio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 20:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoyalMouse/pseuds/TheLoyalMouse
Summary: Yuri leaves his home that has never been a home, only to find that the place he belongs is actually person.





	New Shores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neuroglam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/gifts).



> \- hope your move is going to be a smooth one.

The room was eerily quiet.

Usually, there was always some noise or another. Like the stupid neighbors having a fucking shouting match at four am, which, thanks to the paper-thin walls of the apartment block, sounded like it was happening right next to Yuri’s bed. He could hear the guy from three doors down getting laid, and the old lady with her bathroom next to his kitchen muttering to herself while taking a shit in the morning.

Now though - nothing.

Just the quiet  _ tick tock  _ of his wall clock. The one that was supposed to be a fucking  _ quartz  _ clock.

Yuri heaved a deep sigh and took one last look around the apartment. He’d had most of his stuff already shipped over to his new place. All he still had left to take care of was his backpack, filled with personal things he didn’t want to entrust to the airline, and Potya, his beloved cat.

The rest of his things - all his furniture, some decorative items and the big electronic devices, would stay behind. He had sold his flat with the description ‘completely furnished’ after all. And it didn’t really bother him.

Well … mostly.

His gaze kept being drawn to the four stupid throw pillows on the sofa. They had been a housewarming gift from his grandfather, back when he first moved to Saint Petersburg, and were fucking awful; dark blue with sewn-on pink and yellow roses. Hideous as fuck, like - seriously! But he had taken them with him when he had left his dorm room in favor of housing with Lilia, and again after he had bought this apartment here.

Not this time, though.

A new stage of his life was about to start. One without ugly throw pillows in it. Or so he had thought. Now that the moment had actually come, he knew that he couldn’t actually go through with it.

_ Fucking fuck! _

Muttering under his breath, he opened his already-filled-to-the-brim backpack and tried to stuff the first throw pillow inside. Emphasis on ‘tried’. Even if he managed to make this happen, he would never - no fucking way - get the other three inside.

He felt a small tingle of panic crawl up his spine but fought it back with a vengeance. This was ridiculous. He wouldn’t fucking lose his cool over some stupid throw pillows. He was Yuri fucking Plisetsky!

That didn’t keep him from trying again. And when he failed, trying to shove two pillows underneath his brand new leopard print Gaultier sweater. Which made him look like he was nine months pregnant with triplets.

Yuri closed his eyes. What to do? What to do?

Beka.

He fumbled for his phone, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to talk to his best friend. Right now they were only three hours apart, so he could pretty much call him whenever he wanted. If Beka could, for whatever reason, not take his call, it would just go through to voicemail and he’d call him back later.

In the future though …

He felt a lump building in this throat. Everything was going to change. Not that he didn’t want it to. Actually, he did. Desperately. But it still scared him to think ahead further than the next couple hours. And even  _ that  _ was terrifying.

“Yura?”

It was like a breath of fresh air to hear Beka’s voice of the speakers of his phone. The tension that had built up inside of him over the last week without him even really noticing started to ebb away.

“I … just needed to hear you for a second.”

“Are you okay, Yura? You’re not having seconds thoughts about this, are you?”

“No, of course not! I … It’s just weird to see the apartment like this. I dunno why I feel like this. It’s not like it’s ever been a real home to begin with. Just a place to spend the nights at after practice. No big fucking deal to leave it behind.”

The line went quiet for a moment until Beka cleared his throat. “You know it’s okay to be scared, right?”

“I’m not scared, dipshit!”

A low chuckle. “You are one of the bravest people I know, Yura. But even brave people have the right to feel insecure every now and then. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Yuri sucked in a shivering breath. Fuck, he promised himself he wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not for this. It was a good thing he was leaving, dammit. At least he hoped it was. Oh, for fuck’s sake, it had to be. He didn’t have a plan B. This was either going to work out, or … 

“If it helps, I believe you’re doing the right thing.”

“You do?” His voice was much smaller than he wanted to admit to himself. “Really?”

“Yes, really. This might be good for you. You …” He sighed. “I don’t know. You’ve not really been yourself lately. You’re not even bitching about JJ anymore.”

“Well, you had to go and make him your fucking boyfriend, didn’t you? You ruined this shit for me. Thanks again, by the way. I hate you.”

“You do not.” Otabek chuckled again. “And now get your shit together and walk out of this door, Yura.”

“Actually, there as something I wanted to ask you …”

“Yes?” That was it. No pressure. No pushing. Just gentle patience that made Yuri wonder how he deserved a friend like Beka.

He probably didn’t. But then, the guy had fallen for JJ  _ fucking  _ Leroy, which truly didn’t exactly show good taste.

Anyway.

It felt ridiculous to have half a nervous breakdown over some stupid throw pillows, and he didn’t want to sound pathetic but was pretty sure there wasn’t much he could do about it. So, eventually, he just blurted it all out. “It’s the fucking throw pillows my grandfather gave me. I thought I could leave them behind, but now I kind of can’t and they just don’t fit in the fucking backpack and  ... “ He could feel tears well up in his eyes and every word was harder to force out than the last, until finally all he could get out was a choked: “Fuck!” 

“Yura …” Otabek’s voice was like cool water flowing over the overheated cogs and wheels of Yuri’s mind. He could feel the strange calm wash over him, and it almost brought him to the brink of tears again.

“I’m okay. Fuck … I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“I already told you it’s okay, Yura. You can do this. I believe in you.”

He probably would’ve bristled at anyone else saying the exact same thing, but for some reason it was alright as long as it came from Beka.

Yuri really didn’t deserve him. But, fuck it, neither did Jean Jack-off LeMotherfucker.

“So, your pillows …” Beka picked up the original topic again. “Is the filling of any particular importance to you?”

Yuri frowned. “The … Goddammit, you’re a fucking genius, Beka! I … Thank you. I need to get going now if I don’t wanna miss my flight. I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Take care, Yura. And whenever you need me, I’ll be here.”

They ended the call and Yuri scrambled to rip the wadding out of the pillow cases, fold the latter carefully and put them on top of his other things inside his backpack. The moment he closed the zipper, the doorbell rang and his heart made a weird somersault.

The cab that’d bring him to the airport.

He swallowed hard, then turned his back to the living room and made a beeline for the door - only to come to an abrupt halt when he passed by the kitchen.

_ No. _

_ No no no no no no.  _

That was such a  _ not  _ good idea!

When he left the apartment two minutes later, he had a backpack on his shoulders, the cat carrier in one hand - and his leopard-patterned wok squeezed between his arm and his side.

_ Fuck. _

He considered calling Beka again when he realized there was no way in hell security would let him walk inside that plane with a fucking cast iron wok, on the way from his apartment to the airport. Instead he just balled his hands to fists and breathed around the lump in his throat.

When he arrived at Departures, he paid the driver - and of course there were no tears stinging in his eyes when he gave the fucking wok to him as an extra-tip with a muttered: “Here, you can have it or whatever.”

The flight, including a stop in Seoul, took him fourteen hours that went over more or less in a haze of nerves.

Suddenly, he started to question his every decision. What if? What if? What if? And when the plane finally rolled down the tarmac of Fukuoka Airport, he was ready to board the next flight home.

What had he been thinking? Had he lost his fucking mind?

His hands were shaking when he hauled his suitcase from the conveyor belt, convinced that everything would go to shit the moment he stepped through customs and out into the Arrival’s Lounge. 

But when the automatic doors slid open, and the very first thing he saw was Viktor’s smiling face, his feet seemed to develop a life on their own and first walk, then run, until he could bury himself against Viktor’s chest, breathing in the so familiar scent of sandalwood and lemongrass, he’d missed for so long.

“You’re here, Yurochka,” Viktor whispered, one hand buried in Yuri’s hair, the other pulling him in so tightly it was hard to breathe. “You’re finally home.”

Yuri allowed himself a sigh of relief.

This was home. This was where he belonged.

Right here in Viktor’s arms.


End file.
